Patricia Wentworth: Miss Silver Deals With Death

“Your letter was in reply to one from a person who is, or has been, blackmailing you. Do you know who this person is?”

The head with its tinted chestnut curls was shaken again. The mauvish colour rose.

“I haven’t an idea. There isn’t anyone I can think of. There was an address, so I went to have a look-right the other side of London, but I went. And when I got there, it was nothing but a tobacconist’s shop, and they said a lot of their customers called for their letters there, and made out it was all on account of people being bombed out-and I didn’t believe a word of it, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. So I posted my letter at the end of the street and came away.”

“You posted that letter on the other side of London?”

Mrs. Underwood nodded.

“Yes, I did. And that’s what gave me the turn, because how did it get back into Vandeleur House, and how did that Ivy Lord come by a piece of it to drop in my room? Because that’s what she must have done. Don’t you see, if she got a bit of my letter walking in her sleep, it means the person I wrote it to is right there in one of those Vandeleur flats-and if that isn’t awful, I don’t know what is. I feel like having a heart attack every time I think about it, but I just can’t stop thinking. And if she wasn’t walking in her sleep, well, that’s worse, isn’t it? Because that means she’s in with this wretch, whoever he is. And there’s something crazy about it too, because what’s the sense of dropping a piece of my letter like that? It would be just going out of her way to get herself into a mess, and no gain to anyone. So when I hadn’t had a wink of sleep for two nights, I remembered what Margaret said about you and I got the address and came. And that’s the truth.”

Yes, that was the truth, and a different woman speaking it- a woman who had been country born and country bred, and who still retained a vein of country shrewdness. Charles Moray’s crashing silly bore was in abeyance.

Miss Silver nodded approvingly.

“Very well put, Mrs. Underwood. You know, you should go to the police.”

The head was shaken again.

“I can’t.”

Miss Silver sighed.

“They all say that, and so blackmail goes on. Have you paid anything yet?”

Mrs. Underwood gulped.

“Fifty pounds-and what I shall say to Godfrey, I’m sure I don’t know!”

“The money was in the letter you posted?”

“Oh, no, that was in the first one, getting on for six months ago, just after Godfrey went up north. And this time I said I couldn’t pay anything. And I can’t-I haven’t got it to give, Miss Silver. And that was what was on the torn bit of paper-‘I haven’t got it to give’.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“This person is threatening to tell your husband something. Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

Mrs. Underwood gave another of those distressing gasps. She said, “I can’t!” and left it at that.

Miss Silver shook her head reprovingly.

“It would be very much better if you did. But I will not press you. What makes you think that this girl Ivy Lord may have been walking in her sleep? Do you know of her having done so on any previous occasion?”

Mrs. Underwood stared.

“Why-didn’t I tell you? That’s what comes of being upset- I thought I had. Why, the first thing Ivy told me was all about how she walked in her sleep, and after she found her shoes which she’d cleaned the night before all muddy in the morning, her aunt said she’d better take a job in a flat, and not on the ground floor either, because it wasn’t respectable for a girl to be going out lord knows where and lord knows when, with nothing on but her nightgown and a pair of lace-up shoes. I thought I’d told you.”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“No, you didn’t tell me. What do you want me to do, Mrs. Underwood? Would you like me to come down to Putney and see your maid?”

But Mabel Underwood was getting to her feet. Handkerchief and powder compact had gone back into the shiny black bag. The country voice and country manner had retired behind the façade of sham gentility. She said with the old affected accent,

“Oh, no-I couldn’t dream of troubling you. I’m sure you’ve been most kind, but I wasn’t thinking of anything professional, you know-just a friendly call-but of course quite in confidence-I can rely upon that, can’t I?”

Miss Silver shook hands gravely. There was a hint of reproof in her voice as she said,

“You can certainly rely upon that. Good-bye, Mrs. Underwood.”

Meade had been packing parcels for three hours. It tired her dreadfully. She came out into the street and walked to the corner. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait very long for a bus- not her usual one, because she had to go to Harrods for Aunt Mabel. It was this sort of extra that was the last straw, but she couldn’t say so, because that would invite the immediate retort, “If you can’t pack a few parcels, and do five minutes’ shopping to save me going right across London, how on earth do you think you’re going to get on in the A.T.S.?” She had to wait nearly ten minutes for her bus.

It was just on half-past five when she came out of Harrods by one of the side doors and met Giles Armitage face to face. Giles, looking down, saw a girl in a grey flannel suit and a small black hat-a little creature with cloudy hair and lovely eyes. The hair was dark, and the eyes of a deep pure grey. They looked at him out of a small, peaked face, and all of a sudden they lit up and shone like stars. Colour rushed into the pale cheeks. Her hands clutched at his arm, and a very soft voice said,

“Giles- ”

And then everything went out. The colour, the light, the breath which had carried his name-they all failed together. She gave at the knees, and if he hadn’t been pretty quick with his arm she’d have been down on the pavement. A light little thing and easy enough to hold. It was rather like holding a kitten.

She knew him-that much was certain. He waved to a taxi which had just set down a fare, and put Meade in it.

“Get into the Park and drive slow. Go on till I tell you to stop.”

He got in and shut the door. The girl was lying back. Her eyes were open. Her hands came out to him, and before he knew what he was going to do he had his arm about her. She seemed to expect it, and so in some odd kind of a way did he. She held on to his arm as if she would never let him go. It all seemed the most natural thing in the world. He had the most extraordinary desire to look after her, to put the colour back into her cheeks and the light into her eyes, yet as far as he could remember he had never seen her before. She was saying his name again: “Giles-Giles-Giles-” A girl doesn’t say a man’s name like that unless she is awfully fond of him. The inconveniences of losing one’s memory obtruded themselves. What did you say to a girl who remembered what you had forgotten?

She drew suddenly away and said in a different voice,

“Giles-what’s the matter? Why don’t you say anything? What is it? I’m frightened.”

Major Armitage was a man of action. This had got to be tackled. He tackled it. Those very bright blue eyes of his smiled at her out of the square, tanned face. He said,

“I say-please don’t! I mean you won’t faint again or anything like that will you? I’m the one to be frightened really. Won’t you have a heart and help me out? You see, I’ve been torpedoed and I’ve lost my memory. I didn’t know anything could make one feel such a fool.”

Meade slipped away from him into the corner of the seat. Giles didn’t remember her . A frozen feeling gathered about her heart. She said,

“I won’t faint.”